


Attitude Adjustment

by headbuttingbears (orphan_account)



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Anal Fingering, Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, I'm Sorry, M/M, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Roleplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/headbuttingbears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you want to act like a child then I'm going to treat you like one."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attitude Adjustment

**Author's Note:**

> As usual I am my authentic unreliable lying self. This isn't any of the prompts I promised to attempt. This is something worse.
> 
> Thanks to Jenny as always for the encouragement. This would be in the trash without her divine intervention.
> 
> You don't need to have seen 16x18 - Devastating Story to understand this, but you'll understand some throwaway dialogue better if you have.

"So, what's this I hear about you dropping out of Fordham?"

When Sonny gives him the side-eye and pushes him away, sits up straight on the conference table, Barba knows he just started something. Had he really thought _now_ – an illicit make-out session in his locked office – would be the best time to try this? When did his life become _Ally McBeal_? Whose idea was this? It's terrible. This is why you never mix work with relationships.

"I missed a couple of classes, I didn't _drop out_." Sonny rolls his eyes like Barba's the latest in a long line of people to give him grief. "I had more important things to do. Like sleep. Do you remember sleep? I'm sure you used to need it back in the day."

"And night school isn't important anymore?" Barba asks, refusing to rise to the bait as he sits down in the only armless chair he still has, adjusts his suspender strap where it had gotten twisted somehow. Fucking Sonny, always grabbing at them. He'll never understand his preoccupations.

That infuriating eye roll again as Sonny looks away, rapping his knuckles against the tabletop. "So I skipped class after some brutal overtime, so what? What's the big deal? It's not like I'm actually going to be a lawyer," he mutters.

"That's not the point," Barba says. "You've been learning a lot, it looks good for you to-"

"To what, round out my education?" Sonny shakes his head and hops down off the table, moves out of reach like he knew Barba was going to grab him in a minute and try to shake the attitude out of him. "Because I'm _so_ green, right? Such a 'work in progress'?" His air quotes are too deliberate for this to not be a scab he's been picking at. There's too much going on in his brain sometimes for Barba to bother with playing catch-up.

"Screw off, I've got enough people trying to teach me a lesson," Sonny continues. "I don't need to pay for it, and I _definitely_ don't need an after-school chat with Guidance Counselor Barba."

"If you calmed down for two seconds you'd realize that's not what I was going to say," Barba says, already way past done with the sullen teenager shtick he's witnessing. It's so over the top. They let this guy go undercover? "We just-"

"Who's 'we'?" Sonny pauses in rolling his shirt sleeves back down to peer at him suspiciously. "You sit around with the rest of the squad talking shit about me? Rehashing Carisi's latest screw-ups over take-out while I'm out chasin' snipe, that how it is?"

Barba sighs, scrubs a hand over his head. This argument is a lost cause and yet he's still going to engage. The pay off better be worth it. "For fuck's sake, we don't do that," he says, barely leaving out _often_. "Yes, Liv and I talk, but we don't spend our time roasting you. She thinks you have a lot of potential, actually. And I… Agree," he says grudgingly.

Sonny blinks at him for a moment, clearly thrown, before he sinks back into his snit. "Potential. Yeah, alright. _Potential_ ," Sonny laughs, way overdoing it on the bitterness. "'Oh, he's got so much _potential_.' That's what they always say when you're failing to live up to it. I've been hearing that my whole life, trust me when I say I don't want to hear it from you too."

"You're behaving like an infant." Compared to everything else that sprang to mind, that seems like the safest thing to say. It's certainly the least mean; now is not the time for mean. Even if it's sorely tempting. Barba can't believe he's doing this. He needs to reevaluate his life choices at the soonest opportunity.

" _I'm_ \- Look, just because I call you Daddy sometimes doesn't give you _carte blanche_ to act like my father," Sonny snaps, coming back around the table, doing his level best to tower over Barba where he sits. As if he isn't used to people playing height games with him at the first hint of confrontation? Please. That's Barba's entire life.

But if Sonny pokes him in the chest with that pointing finger of his he's going to regret it.

Narrowly avoiding danger and not having the slightest clue, Sonny checks his watch instead. "I gotta go, I'm gonna be late for something far more important than this." Clicks his tongue at him as his hand darts out to snap Barba's suspender strap. "Good talk, _Dad_." He winks. He actually _winks_.

Oh hell no. "You're not going anywhere," Barba says, reaching out and grabbing his wrist, reeling him in and twisting the material of his shirt where his cuff still hangs unbuttoned and loose. Sloppy. He should know better by now. "We're not done."

"The fuck do you think you're doing?" Sonny asks, alarm warring with amusement, trying halfheartedly to jerk out of his grasp. "Let go of me _._ "

"No," Barba says flatly, and Sonny distracts himself with putting up a token resistance while Barba gets his belt undone and dress pants open one-handed. The fit isn't perfect and they drop to his hips immediately. He really needs to bite the bullet and get to a tailor instead of relying on off-the-rack. Or maybe he just needs to eat more. The kid's a coatrack.

"What the fuck-"

Barba could never beat him in a fair fight, but there's nothing fair about this. He's got the benefit of weight and leverage, so when he jerks Sonny down he's totally unprepared and stumbles, lands sprawling over Barba's lap. Momentum and his height work against him in the worst way, and Sonny's face almost meets the floor. Would've except he stops himself with a hand slapped flat on the floorboard, a muffled _oof_ as the wind's knocked out of him.

Barba let him go when he fell, but now he grabs Sonny's wrist again, just above his watch, repositions his arm so his hand is at his lower back. "You don't want to go to classes that _you're_ paying for? Fine." He uses his free hand to shove Sonny's dress shirt up and drag his underwear down over the curve of his predictably lily white ass, setting him to squirming with his pants around his thighs. "You want to act like a disrespectful brat? Fine."

"What are you doing?" Sonny tries to push himself up, free hand slipping hard over Barba's knee but his struggle is short-lived. The position is just too awkward for someone of Sonny's lankiness; he's too unbalanced, gravity getting the better of him. It's almost too easy to get his other wrist secure, both hands pinned behind his back, and Barba shifts his legs, keeping the bits of him he's interested in spread over his thighs.

"If you want to act like a child then I'm going to treat you like one."

The first slap isn't very hard at all; Sonny's yelp isn't from pain, but his shoes squeak across the floor as he struggles. "What the fuck!"

No point being lazy – Barba slaps him again, harder, palm flat against his ass. "This is what happens when you insist on behaving like a whiny little boy. Whiny little boys get spanked."

"Stop, wait!" Sonny won't stop wriggling around, trying to avoid his hand, and he's not even smacking him properly yet. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry." He jerks under a particularly sharp slap, one that makes his skin pink up bright and appealing. "Stop, I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Barba gives him a genuine crack of his hand, the way he remembers his father hitting him, and Sonny lets out a cry. Not from shock or indignity this time, but real pain. Swats him again, hard enough to leave the vague shape of his hand on his ass, bolstered by the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. It fades quickly, and Barba hurries to replicate it. "You're just saying that. You're not really sorry."

"I am," Sonny squawks. "Stop, c'mon-"

"Not until you're _really_ sorry," Barba talks over him, and hits him again as hard as he'd dare. He falls into a rhythm almost immediately, mixing cracking slaps with duller, more robust blows, all intercut with Sonny's corresponding noises of hurt, showy yelps and cries that grow quieter the longer it goes on. Trying to keep some semblance of dignity, or maybe he realizes that his protests were falling on deaf ears, but Sonny gives up.

It's the numbness in his hand that knocks Barba from his daze, and he shakes his hand out, slightly out of breath and staring down at Sonny's ass. The whole thing is bright red and painful looking – he'd spread the blows out evenly, never hitting him in the same spot twice in a row. He clenches his hand around Sonny's wrists, resettles his grip as he brushes his knuckle lightly against the soft skin of his butt, right next to where the waistband digs in, and Sonny flinches. He's shaking and sweating in Barba's lap like he's just chased a perp ten blocks in July, and Barba can hear him breathing in rattling gasps. He hadn't noticed any of this before, too caught up in his work. Tunnel vision. It happens sometimes.

"Are you sorry for being a hard-headed brat?" Barba asks, cupping his hand over a glowing cheek.

"I'm sorry," Sonny says, voice rough, sounding deeply apologetic and entirely sincere for a change. "I'm really, _really_ sorry."

"Are you going to keep going to class?" He strokes his thumb over a charming dimple, watching how the kid breaks out into gooseflesh, his breath hitching. God, he needs to stop thinking of him as  _the kid_ but the nine-year difference really looms sometimes.

"Yeah. Yes." Sonny shifts in his lap. How uncomfortable can this position be for him? The headrush must be crazy. Barba is once again left wondering what the appeal is.

"Are you done being so defensive?" Barba licks his thumb, pushes it slowly between his cheeks to rub down his crack. "You gonna give the attitude a break?"

"Yeah," Sonny says, rocking forward in his lap, grinding into his thigh. Makes an attempt at tugging his hands free but it's weak, and Barba's got a solid grip on his wrists. This would've been easier with handcuffs. Next time.

"Good." He sucks on two fingers, coats them liberally with spit before pushing them between Sonny's cheeks, rubbing his asshole before forcing them in, not giving him a chance to react, clench up and keep him out.

Sonny lets out a shout and bucks in his lap, tries to lurch away but Barba holds firm to him, twists his hand and curls his fingers.

"Sometimes you astound me," Barba says to him, working his fingers slowly in and out, feeling how tight he's wound. "Bullying you into staying in night school? Really?"

"You- You said no slutty professor," Sonny groans, shifting dangerously in his lap, hands flexing uselessly. "I didn't-"

"Shut up," he says. There's no rhythm to how he fingers him, but that's alright, Barba's had enough of being controlled. He speeds up, forcing his fingers deeper as Sonny's whimpering grows louder. "Next time someone tries to give you some advice-"

"Fucking- Yeah, yeah, I'll listen, just-" whatever Sonny was going to say next is lost in a shameless moan instead, shuddering in Barba's lap, knocking his feet against the floor helplessly. "Please," he says again, and "I'm sorry," and "Oh, Jesus," voice cracking over the words like he's far younger than he is.

Barba pulls his fingers out only to hold him open one-handed, knowing the rough treatment is hurting him but not caring for once. Sonny's always pushing, testing his limits, and for once he doesn't feel like being the responsible one. He spits imprecisely, rubs it over Sonny's hole with three fingers and spits again, aim better the second time, before he forces those same three fingers back in, the one dragging dry.

"Ah!" Sonny strains against him, almost tips over and Barba has to pull him back by his wrists, probably hurting his shoulders and fuck, for someone so skinny he weighs a ton. Dense son of a bitch in so many ways. But Barba doesn't stop fingering him, and that's likely what sets him off. "I'm sorry," Sonny sobs. "Please, Daddy, I'm sorry, I- I'll go to class, I'll listen better- Please just- I'm _sorry_ ," and he humps Barba's thigh as best he can.

"I know you are," Barba says, slowing down, taking his time the way he ordinarily likes to. Curls his fingers again, feels him from the inside, remembering how good he felt around his dick the other night. He has to get him in an actual bed – fucking on couches and in offices is for twenty-year-olds on primetime dramas. He refuses to live the stereotype of the desk-bound workaholic, not when he has a perfectly good king-sized mattress at home.

Barba leans to the side, sees how Sonny's sweaty hair has gone wavy against his neck, falls in greasy hanks that hide his face. "You've just got so much _potential_ ," he whispers to him, because they both know that's what he wants to hear, and Sonny tenses up, shoves his hips against Barba's thigh, his hard cock still in his underwear, and comes with a tight groan. Chokes out a handful of sobs as Barba gives him another few jabs of his fingers, asshole clenching around his knuckles spasmodically.

When Barba finally pulls his fingers free, smooths a hand soothingly over the kid's ass – now down to a hot pink instead of fire engine red – Sonny lies limp, broad shoulders shaking as he struggles to catch his breath. Barba lets his wrists go, sits back to pull his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his fingers before carefully lifting the waistband of Sonny's underwear, pulls it back up and over his ass.

"Come on," Barba says to him, fixing his shirt. "C'mon, get off me. I can't feel my legs."

Sonny moves gingerly, sliding off Barba's lap until his knees hit the floor and he can push himself up to a kneeling position next to the chair. Even with one of his hands holding onto Barba's tingling thigh for balance, Sonny sways as he tugs up his pants, face flushed and eyes watery, and Barba can't resist clapping a hand against his cheek where a bead of sweat is rolling down.

"Ow," Sonny says, forehead wrinkling, but there's a satisfied smile starting on his face. "Jesus, you hit harder than Sister Mary Lazarus. Damn, man."

"I've told you before: don't snap my suspenders." Barba brushes Sonny's hair back out of his eyes, watches him wince as he zips up his pants and cautiously tucks his shirt back in, rolls his sleeves back up. "Besides, you asked for it."

"What can I say? I wasn't feeling the right energy from you," Sonny says with a nervy grin, struggling to remember how to buckle a belt. "You should've let me wear the uniform."

Barba cringes, straightening Sonny's tie. "The only uniform I'm interested in isn't worn by teenagers. No Catholic school shit." He smooths a hand over his shoulder. Sonny's shirt is warm, damp in spots; if they swapped places Barba would be dying for a shower or at least a change of clothes, but Sonny seems happy enough to stay where he is as he is.

"Still not budging on the bad teacher thing, huh?" Sonny gives up on his belt and finds Barba's suspenders a lot easier to deal with. "What about naughty paralegal?" he asks, slipping them off Barba's shoulders and starting on the fly of his trousers. "Gee, Mr. Barba, I don't know _how_ I'm going to get all this filing done, it's just so _hard_ to remember the _alphabet_ -"

"Oh my god, no," Barba interrupts, horrified laughter at Sonny's cheesy attempt at seduction dying in a gasp. "No, no naughty anything," he manages as Sonny gropes him. "And no more fucking around in my office."

"No more after _this_ ," Sonny corrects him before he pushes his legs farther apart.

"No more after this," he agrees, reclining back in the chair and resting his hand in Sonny's fucked up hair. It's already a disaster, Barba pulling at it in a few minutes isn't going to make it any worse.

Sonny hums his agreement, his mouth too full to say anything.

But Barba needs reassurance, so he pulls his hair a lot sooner than he planned. "You're not actually dropping out of Fordham, are you? That was just bullshit, right?"

Sonny licks his lips before giving him a smug grin. "After I just bought you all those red pens for checking my homework?"

Barba groans at the thought, and then groans again.

**Author's Note:**

> Show of hands - who got my Sister Act reference? Nobody? Bueller?


End file.
